Obsession
by The-Despondent-Insomniac
Summary: Gretchen knows everything there is to know about Claire Bennet... How could she not when claire so obviously belongs to her...but who is the mysterious man whose arms Claire runs to at night... and why doesn't Gretchen know anything about him?


**so i was listening to tainted love by marilyn manson just after watching the spoiler scene of claire and gretchen kissing and this is what popped into my head, the original ending was a lot darker but it kinda morohed a little as i was writing it and this is what i ended up with instead. i hope you all dont hate it too much and will leave me a couple of reviews..im not asking for a lot, just a few to let me know if it was any good or if it was completely rubbish. constructive criticism is welcomed, i know the grammar and such is probably pretty poor- its not one of my strong points im afraid. but apart from that i hope you will all enjoy this at least a little :)**

**xoxox**

**Becca**

* * *

She was meant to be mine, I kissed her and she ran but she was supposed to come back. She was supposed to mine. I was sure of it, finally someone who could make people see me too. Just by being around her. And they would see me even more once she was really mine. Then they'd all be jealous, then they'd want to **be** me. She was supposed to be mine and she was supposed to come back. But she didn't, so I followed her.

I waited a few minutes expecting her to return, but why wait at all- she was coming back anyway. Why shouldn't I just go and get her instead. Then she would see; then she would understand that she was supposed to be mine. I'd make her understand.

I saw her disappear around a corner; her dress was easy to see in the lights around campus. She was running slightly, not scared, just as though she had somewhere she needed to be. She was going in the wrong direction. She was supposed to be running _towards_ **me. **Not further and further away.

I followed faster now, I had to catch her. I knew she would understand if I could only get to her; she would be able to see. She would know, just like I did that she was supposed to be mine.

She slowed down, crossed a street just when the lights went back to red. I could follow now, I had to wait. I wasn't special like her, wasn't perfect and untouchable. I couldn't get back up if one of those cars hit me. Not like she could. She was special. But soon, soon I would be special too. When she was mine I would be special. Everyone would see just how special I was when she was mine. I only had to catch her first and make her see.

I don't know how long I been followed her for, she didn't seem to want to stop, she's was going somewhere but I didn't know that part of town. Why didn't I know it? Where was she going that I didn't know about? I needed to catch her, needed to find her. Where was she going...she went around another corner, hailing a cab. How was I meant to make her see when she was getting so far away?

I hailed my own cab. I had no idea how I was going to pay for it, I'd left my purse behind but that didn't matter. All that mattered was Claire.

Her cab pulled up outside an apartment block. Where was she going? I didn't know she knew anyone outside of college. Besides her father, and his motel was on the other side of town. I knew it was, I'd checked. I let my cab go on until the next set of lights and then quickly slipped out. The driver was too busy yelling at the late night traffic to notice.

I ran back around the corner, just in time to see the door of the building open and Claire launching herself into the arms of the person inside. I couldn't see who it was, the door kept them hidden from me but I knew whoever it was would pay. They were touching her, **my **Claire. They had no right to touch her, she was** mine**.

I heard her laughing lightly at whoever the person was and as she danced away from their arms playfully I finally saw him. He was tall, a little taller than my own height but not by much. He had dark, loosely floppy hair that looked ready to fall in his eyes any second and he was thin, not overly so, but enough to see he had no extra fat on him, only muscle.

He stepped further out of the building and swatted at Claire playfully. Neither one of them noticed me. That wasn't right; Claire should be able to _sense_ whenever I was near. She was mine; she was supposed to know every tiny movement I made instinctively.

Instead she was slowly walking back towards the dark haired guy, her eyes locked with his and an overly emphasised sway to her hips. She looked almost predatory. She would look at me like that soon. Just as soon as I reached her and made her understand.

For now though, I was too interested in who the mysterious guy was. I would have known about him if Claire had talked about him. I knew everything there was to find about anyone she had ever mentioned. I turned my attention back towards them again, studying him more closely. I needed to know who it was that that thought he had a right to touch my Claire.

He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept in days, his clothes were wrinkled and his hair was a mess. The bags under his eyes were obvious to anyone looking hard enough. I could see them from across the street after all. He was only wearing his socks, no shoes or slippers and his baggy pants made it obvious that Claire's visit had been unplanned.

So what was she doing here then? Why wasn't she back in the dorms, letting me explain everything to her, making her understand that we were supposed to be together? Why was she here, on this dark street, waking oh-so slowly towards some random guy in that mouth-watering red dress and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Why was he staring down at her like I wanted to be able to do. Why were his hands sliding smoothly around her waist and pulling her into him. Why was a crooked, tired grin soothing its way across his face as Claire said something quietly to him- her head slightly tilted and a smirk playing across her lips.

Why were her hands running slowly up his chest as she continued to murmur, why were they sliding along his jaw line- her fingers smoothing and tracing the path as they went. Why were they delving into his dark messy hair and tugging lightly on the strands.

Why were his hands leaving her waist, one gliding slowly over her ribs and making her shiver- see! She didn't want his touch; she knew she belonged to me; knew that it was only me who was meant to touch her- while the other copied her own movements and slid gently around the back of her neck and into her shimmering bob.

Why was she laughing gently as he tugged on one of the short strands when she should be pulling away in disgust. Why was she doing the same to his mussed bangs and smiling delightedly when he let out a full bellied laugh when she should be shaking off his hands and slapping his laughing face for even daring to touch her when she belonged to someone else.

But wait, her eyes were growing serious and heavy, she was looking at him intensely and his own face was quickly settling into one of solemnity. His hands were beginning to slide from her hair, away from her jaw. Yes! That's right; she was telling him to leave her alone, telling him not to touch her. Telling him to stay away.

But....why wasn't she letting go? Why were her hands still gripping him tightly, why was she holding onto the hand he had just taken from her cheek, why wasn't she backing away now, coming towards me. Letting me have her. Why wasn't she leaving him? She was mine, why wasn't she coming to me.

Why was she tugging on his hand? Maybe she was apologising. Yes, that has to be it, maybe he likes her and she doesn't want to hurt him. Maybe she feels guilty for wanting me and not him and is trying to make it easier.

But no, she's lifting his hand, placing it back in her cheek, staring into his eyes challengingly, pleadingly. She's turning her head into the hand, closing her eyes at the touch. She's kissing it gently, opening her eyes to stare into his pained ones and kissing his palm again. She's taking his hand from her face now and stepping forward again, all looks of playfulness gone. Now she only looks serious, and determined, and scared.

She's running her fingers back over his chest, letting her hand sit delicately on his shoulder- her fingers tangling lightly with the hair at the nape of his neck. She's stepping right into him so that they're almost touching and God! I just want to scream!

This isn't right, she can't want him. She's mine. She belongs to me. I don't even know him, he doesn't exist. Claire has never even mentioned a boyfriend. She told me she didn't have one. She would have mentioned him if he was important. Why didn't she say anything about him? Why hadn't she told me, why didn't I know. I knew everything about her, she belonged to me. I knew everything. But I didn't know about him. How could I not know about him?

She hadn't told me there was someone, someone she wanted to look at like she was looking at him now, her eyes full of want, and need and burning desire. She hadn't told me there was someone whose arms she liked to stand in- even outside a dark apartment block on a blackened street late at night. She hadn't told me there was someone she let touch her like I dreamed of doing, or that there was someone she let look at her the way I wanted to every single day. She hadn't told me she belonged to someone else.

She hadn't told me there was someone who could make her cry just by turning their head away from her determinedly, hadn't told me that those tears would be just as impossible for him to resist as they would have been for me. She hadn't told me the way her sobs sounded when she felt his fingers soothing the tear tracks from her cheeks or the way she breathed out pleadingly when he touched his forehead to hers. She hadn't told me this side of her existed and I didn't know it.

I didn't understand. If she was mine, how could I not have known this about her? How could I not have known there was someone already in the place I wanted to fill?

How could I never have seen the tearful smile she tried to muster when she was upset, how could I have never noticed the way her eyes went blank when she tried not to crumple to the ground. How could I have missed the way her eyes dimmed when her heart was breaking, or the way a spark of determination and endless hope burned painfully in her eyes as she whispered brokenly in tones I could _feel _deep in my gut even if I couldn't hear the words?

How could I never have seen the barely disguised desperation in her eyes as she waited for a reply from the stranger with the pained eyes and the worn out look who now stood with his head bowed and his eyes darting anywhere but at the breaking girl in front of him? How could I have never seen the desperate hope that filled her eyes as she waited for something from him like it could change her very existence? And how could I have ever even imagined that she was mine when I saw that brilliant smile that filled her face and seemed to take over her entire being when he at last lifted his head and let his eyes meet hers. The same desperation and wanting and needing and silent hope that filled hers reflected back in them.

I'll tell you how shall I? The answer is simple really. She never was mine, she was always his and I didn't even know it. I wanted her, and thought I knew everything about her. But I knew nothing. **He** was _everything _to her and I had ever even heard of him, never even guessed at his existence. So how could she ever have been mine when I didn't even know who she was? I had seen her as something magical, something to make me magical too. But it wasn't me she was meant to make into something special, it was him...

I could see it, in the way he stood straighter now he was around her, the way his eyes seemed more alert, the way the bags of exhaustion faded into oblivion and his rumpled outfit faded into the background. I could see it in the way his eyes seemed to hold a brightness of hope they hadn't had when he first came to the door. I could see an exhausted and weary strength in him rise raise its head and his tired defeat gain new purpose. Claire made **him **great, made **him **special, not me. She belonged to him, probably always had and always would.

I turned slowly around and started walking back towards the street corner, glancing back over my shoulder every few steps. I understood that Claire wasn't mine anymore, never had been really but it didn't stop me wanting to know everything about her, find out every tiny detail about her. **She **_was_ still special after all, even if I wasn't. And yeah, maybe I still had a little bit of a crush on her. But so what? You can't help who you fall for. Even if they don't feel the same way back.

I looked back one more time just as I was turning the corner and saw him draw her towards him slowly while his hands slipped back up her sides and hers tangled into his hair. I saw him leaning down ever so slowly and her arching up towards him, saw their noses slowly brushing in a gentle nuzzle and then their lips finally connect.

I walked away. And over my shoulder heard the delighted shriek of "Peter put me down!!" followed by deep laughter and happy squeals and the sound of a slamming door.

I didn't expect Claire back in the dorms that night. That was fine, it gave me the perfect amount of time to move my things back into my old room; with the girl smelling of cabbage who was hardly ever there, the window I had first watched Claire leap to her "death" from...and a huge, white wall where I could put up everything I found out about that Peter guy...


End file.
